


A Fine Line

by DarkestDesire



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:18:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkestDesire/pseuds/DarkestDesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a fine line between dreams and reality, between coincidence and fate, between character building and soul destroying, between love and hate. Seifer's life is defined by fine lines. As he passes from memory to memory through the insanity of Time Compression, maybe he'll come a little closer to understanding why. Eventual Seifer/Squall. SLASH</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Is all our Life, then but a dream  
Seen faintly in the goldern gleam  
Athwart Time's dark resistless stream?

~Lewis Carroll, Sylvie and Bruno, 1889~

CHAPTER ONE: IS ALL OUR LIFE, THEN BUT A DREAM

Pain was the first thing that Seifer managed to register as he drifted into consciousness. From the aches and throbs radiating throughout his body he figured he must have survived a Hyne damned avalanche or something equally as destructive. Willing himself to suffer into a sitting position, growing dizzy at the sudden movement, Seifer finally opened his eyes.

If he hadn't lived through the bizarre hell of being Ultimecia's minion for the past few months, he might have been surprised to find himself in a hallway of mirrors, reflecting his own image as far as the eye could see, converging at a horizon point somewhere far off in the distance. As it was, he was simply pissed off, fucking angry as all hell to be exact, and not in the mood to play whatever game was in store for him now. He'd had enough of games, of her damned games, to last him a lifetime. Despite his anger, he managed to find some consolation in the fact that at least he wasn't dead…yet.

Sitting up with a groan, he squinted against the bright lights that lit up the mirrored hall that extended endlessly on either side of him. Bare bulbs hung down from the middle of the ceiling every few feet in a row that seemed to run the hallway's entire length of…infinity? It sure seemed that way…He felt the glaring fluorescent lighting adding to his already throbbing headache and increasing his angry annoyance at the situation. Slowly making his way to his feet, grimacing through the pain, he glanced warily to his left and then to his right, wondering which way to start walking. He seriously doubting that it would make a bloody bit of difference. Deciding on a whim, he headed right, with a muttered, "Why the fuck not?"

It was slow going since he still felt like he'd been dropped here by a hurricane. He had the sensation that he was walking on a treadmill and making absolutely n progress whatsoever because of the distinct lack of a change in scenery. He felt like he had been walking for days on end, constantly moving forward and yet getting abso-fucking-lutely nowhere. Was there even an end to this abysmal, infernal hall? Or was it all connected, running in an endless, monotonous, inescapable circle? The endless lights and mirrors reflecting his ceaseless, tediously slow trod forward with no end in sight were wearing down his already tenuous hold on sanity.

He could feel eyes on him, watching him, staring at him, pointing and laughing at his futile attempt to leave this fucking hellhole. Was this another one of Ultimecia's tricks? One of her numerous methods for wearing down his mind? For keeping him unstable enough for her to continue to possess him? Though he had seen her fall at the hands of Leonhart and his merry little band of followers, he could think of no other explanation for this tedious prison.

"Why are you punishing me!?" he screamed desperately, letting rage wash over him, trying to keep his panicked, frenzied thoughts from overtaking him. "What do you want!?" His voice echoed tauntingly around him as the mirrored images of himself reflected his own haunted face a thousand times over. Turning toward the mirror, he sneered at his own reflection. "What the hell are you looking at?!" he snapped. His own angry visage staring back at him was his only answer.

He laughed madly, the hollow, broken sound of it grating on his nerves. Falling to his knees, he continued to laugh, his reflections joining him in his crazed expression of his pent up frustration, anguish, hopelessness, despair, and vestiges of anger. He laughed until it hurt, almost believing that the mirrored image echoing him was a separate entity that could commiserate with his desperate plight. Was this his punishment for joining the Sorceress, for turning against everyone, for trying to destroy everything he had once held dear? There was absolutely nothing funny about this, yet the image in front of him continued to laugh, to mock him in his fall from grace, in his cursed and helpless state.

"What are you laughing at?!" he screamed furiously at the mirror. He realized in some distant, suppressed part of his mind that he had finally lost it, finally cracked, that he was yelling at himself, but it didn't register. The reflected image continued to laugh, the sound of it echoing maddeningly in his ears. "Stop it!" he cried angrily, desperately. The image refused to listen. He pressed the palms of his hands over his ears until it felt as if he would crush his own skull with the pressure and squeezed his eyes shut, but the laughter continued to ring hollowly in his head and the image of his own laughing form seemed to be burned into his retinas. "STOP IT!" he roared, the furious sound yell barely audible over the resounding laughter. His own image continued to taunt him.

He resorted to his typical fallback mechanisms: anger and violence. Launching himself at the mirror, he let his fists fly. He had to make it stop! He pounded at his own laughing face until he finally felt the mirror crack beneath his angry fists with a satisfying crunch. His face was cracked, shattered into a hundred pieces, reflecting oddly back at him. You've cracked, you've cracked, you've cracked…his mind supplied, repeating the sentiment over and over as the laughter continued to haunt him. The words were repeated in his head by familiar voices, the voices of those he had fought against, as they repeated them in unison, their tones shifting from accusing to singsong and making his head spin.

He continued to beat on the cracked face in front of him as if shattering the image of himself could make them stop. Finally, the mirror gave way under his assault. He watched, mesmerized, as it shattered into a million pieces, the voices thankfully stopping with its destruction. The law of gravity seemed to be suspended as the glittering particles merely hung motionless in the air, a curtain of snow-like fragments obscuring whatever lay beyond.

Wonderingly, almost hesitantly, he reached toward the splintered pieces, hardly daring to hope for something besides this endless hall of mirrors and shattered images of himself. His hand brushed against the fragmented screen, which felt almost slippery beneath his touch. Slowly, gently, he pushed his fingers between the pieces. Swiping his hand sideways, he watched in awe as the shattered remnants of the mirror parted like a curtain and he was able to glimpse a darkened, grassy field spread out on the other side. Raising his other hand and opening the glittering curtain fully, he was slightly startled as the suspended pieces at last began to fall, drifting slowly to the ground like glittering snowflakes.

Stepping over the barrier and into the field, Seifer felt relief flood him, driving back the madness of only minutes before. The contrast between the moonlit field of grass and flowers before him and the fluorescent bulbs and linoleum tiled, mirrored hall behind him was almost overwhelming. He hoped that he was free from whatever twisted game and mind torture the hallway had been…but the feeling in his gut told him that had only been the beginning.

Despite his trepidation, it felt good to be outside, out in the open where he could breathe in the fresh air and be free from the monotony that had driven him to madness. Having nothing better to do, he walked forward, the softness of the grass beneath his tired feet a relief after the harsh linoleum he had left behind. Continuing forward, guided by the moonlight, he could make out a building in the distance. With any luck, he could find refuge there, though he wondered if there was anywhere in all of Gaia that he would still be welcomed. Perhaps in some of the remote villages they had not heard tale of the atrocities he had committed or at the very least had no idea what he looked like.

As he got closer and was able to get better view of the building ahead, he was startled to find that he recognized it. It was the orphanage, Edea's Orphanage, the place where he had essentially been raised alongside Squall and the rest of his motley crew, aside from Rinoa. Why was he here of all places? He only had a vague memory of the place, one that Edea had drawn out to seduce him to join her, using his image of Matron, all those long months ago in the T.V. station in Timber where it had all begun. He knew this place, as he knew that Edea was Matron and that Squall, Quistis, Zell, Selphie, and Irvine had been here for a time too, but beyond that there were no specific details, no real memories of the place. He had wondered from time to time during the war, during his more lucid moments, what it had been like to grow up here with the others.

When he reached the front door, he hesitated, a sense of anticipation filling him. What could he hope to find here? Would it bring back any memories from the blank void that was his childhood, answer any of the many questions that he had? He opened the door slowly, the heavy wood creaking slightly on its hinges. Stepping inside, he was hit with a sense of familiarity about the place, almost like déjà vu, though he knew for a fact that he had been here before. He wondered if anyone was here. Looking around, he noted that the house seemed lived in, if the furniture and other items scattered about the house were anything to go by.

Coming to a closed door, he opened it, letting his curiosity get the better of him. There were three sets bunk beds lining the walls of what was, apparently a bedroom, though only two of those sets seemed to be filled with small, sleeping bodies. Unable to stop himself, Seifer walked farther into the room, to inspect closer. Peering at the face of a small brunette girl laying on top of the closest bunk, he was shocked to recognize, almost reflexively, what appeared to be a seven-year-old Selphie. Examining the bunk below her he found a similar aged Irvine.

What the hell?! His mind reeled with shock. Although slightly surprised that he had immediately recognized the two sleeping children, the fact that they were children was the big kicker. What was this? Another game? It seemed like an odd, atypical trick for Ultimecia to play, though he wouldn't rule anything out. What else could it be? Could he have somehow ended up in the wrong time? Ultemicia's castle had been in the future, maybe when she was destroyed the space-time continuum was distorted and deposited him back in the right place, but the wrong time…? Or maybe she had actually managed Time Compression…

That was a sobering thought. He had never really been clear on what she had aimed to achieve by compressing time, but it had been her ultimate goal. If she had managed to achieve it, then what did that mean for him? Would he be stuck here, in this time, for the rest of his life? Would he be able to make it back to his own time? If he did happen to make it back, would time still move forward like normal, or would it be forever distorted?

Even if his suspicions were correct and he was in the wrong time, would he want to make it back to his own time? If Squall and his gang had truly managed to defeat Ultimecia, then what would there be for him if he returned? He would likely be sentenced to death, spending the rest of his sorry life locked up in D-District awaiting his end. He could try to convince them that he had been manipulated, that his mind had been warped and controlled, though he would hate to admit to such a weakness, but he doubted they would listen to him, or believe him if they did. And what would it matter? Someone would have to pay; someone would have to be held responsible. And, despite how things had turned out, he could not deny the fact that he had at first gone willingly, enticed by what Edea had offered him.

Edea…his Matron. All of their Matron, though he seemed to have been the only one cognizant of that fact up until about halfway through the war. He wasn't really sure when the rest of the gang had figured it out, or how they had done so, though he supposed it didn't really matter. Looking at Selphie and Irvine's young, sleeping, innocent faces, he wondered how things had ended up so terribly messed up…but there was no use pondering that now.

Sighing, he turned to scrutinize the rest of the room, noting that two of the beds didn't seem to have been used recently, while the farthest set, upon closer inspection, had only been made to look as if there were sleeping children in them. Moving closer, Seifer found a brown haired doll with a lumpy blanket forming the 'body' of the decoy, with a similar set up on the bunk below, but with a blond doll. It was pretty easy to deduce that these were stand-ins for him and Squall. The empty beds must have been Quistis and Zell's before the two got adopted.

The thought of him and Squall being rule breakers, even at such a tender age, brought a slight smile to his face, probably his first real smile since before the war…Pushing that depressing thought aside, he wondered where he and Squall would have snuck off to in the middle of the night. He doubted that he would have tried running away, though for some reason he could see Squall attempting such a thing. If they had been a little older, he would have guessed that they were out sparring. As it was, he had no idea, aside from the obvious assumption that he wouldn't find them within the house.

Making his way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him, he walked through the family room, casting cursory glances at the scattered toys, and went out the back door. He crossed the stone patio and walked down the steps that led toward the beach not far away. Nearing the beach, he found the ocean to be peaceful, waves gently lapping at the shore. It was quiet and peaceful, no children present. Where else would they have gone? Where else would he have gone?

The rotating light from the lighthouse farther down caught his eye. That would be the next spot he would look. As he trudged toward the lighthouse, he pondered what he hoped to find, what he hoped to accomplish with this self appointed task of discovering his younger self? Some sort of insight into his past, insight into himself perhaps? What would happen if he met his younger self? Would it create a paradox? Would he fuck everything up, as he was so apt to do? He highly doubted that his ten year younger self would recognize him…

Deciding to plow ahead without questioning things any further, something he was decidedly good at, he made his way to the lighthouse and, after finding the first floor empty, started up the ten storied spiraling staircase leading to the very top, dearly hoping that his assumptions were correct and he was not making a wasted trip. The long upward trek left him winded and slightly dizzy after the trials of the night. He hesitantly walked up the last few steps leading to the lightbox, bypassing a door leading out to the lower tiered balcony surrounding the lighthouse.

He was somewhat dismayed to find the lightbox empty before he spotted his younger self and Squall through the glass, sitting on the upper balcony with their backs leaning against the glass as they peered out toward the ocean. Heading back down to the door he had passed on his way up to the very top, he went out to the lower balcony, quietly making his way to a spot below where the boys were sitting, careful not to be spotted as he positioned himself so that he could hear what he and Squall were saying.

"I wonder if there are a lot of people who use the gunblade…" his eight-year-old self pondered aloud. "Of course, I'm going to use the gunblade. I'm gonna be just like Sir Knight in the movie! I'll be the best gunblader in all of Balamb Garden—hell, in all the world!" the young Seifer declared exuberantly. "You'll have to use the gunblade, too, so that we can train together," he added, addressing Squall. "Together we'll be the best gunbladers in history! We'll be just like Aéngus the Brave from The Legend of Vascaroon, just like we've always dreamed about."

"Yeah," Squall answered forlornly.

Seifer found his lack of enthusiasm irritating. "What's wrong with you?" the young boy demanded.

There was a long silence before a quiet, barely audible answer came. "You're going to leave and forget all about me…" Squall voiced his concern dejectedly, sounding resigned to this fate.

"Squall…I'm not leaving you, not like she did anyway. You'll be joining me next year," Seifer answered firmly, not leaving any room for argument.

"Yeah, I know," was Squall's unconvinced reply.

"I'm just going on ahead, you know, scouting things out. I'll tell you everything that I find out, everything I learn next year, so you'll be way ahead of everyone else. That way, when we're able to start with the gunblades you'll know all the stuff I know, so we can practice together," Seifer informed the brunette resolutely.

"Whatever."

"It's not like I have a choice. I mean, I tried to talk Matron into letting you come too, I even told her that I would wait an extra year, but, of course, she said no," Seifer confided to his despondent partner.

"Really?" Squall seemed genuinely surprised at this. He sounded almost hopeful, the first positive emotion he had displayed thusfar.

"You think I'd just leave you behind without a fight, Squally? I mean, who else am I going to practice with or save from evil dragons?" he questioned.

"I'm sure you'll have tons of people to fight with at Garden. And there will be real monsters to fight there," Squall objected, unconvinced.

"Yeah, but I doubt that there's going to be anyone else actually worth training with and monsters won't help me learn how to use a gunblade right," Seifer countered.

"What if by the time I get there you've forgotten all about me," Squall continued to protest.

"How could I ever forget an annoying little brat like you?" he teased back.

"What if Matron won't let me go to Garden next year?" Squall challenged, undeterred.

"I'll find you and bring you myself, then," Seifer announced as if it should be obvious.

Squall finally relented. "I'll be here…" the brunette announced seriously, at last convinced that the older boy was sincere.

"Why…?" Seifer pressed, questioningly.

"I'll be 'waiting'…here…" Squall amended.

"For what?"

"I'll be waiting…for you…so…If you come here…You'll find me," he added. Seifer seemed appeased by this statement at last.

"I promise," the blonde vowed seriously and with conviction.

Deciding that he had heard enough, having enough to mull over with this revealing conversation, Seifer quietly made his way back inside and started down the winding staircase, lost in thought. A sudden gust of wind, blowing with abnormal strength through the still open door, hit him with the force of Pandemona's attack. Unprepared for the assault, he was sent hurtling headlong over the stair rail and through the shaft of air that plunged ten stories down formed by the staircase spiraling its way around it.

As the ground approached, quicker than he liked, only one thought flashed through Seifer's mind. Really? This is it? This is how I die?! How pathetic…


	2. Chapter 2

Closing his eyes instinctually at the moment when death seemed immanent, Seifer was surprised to feel himself landing not on the hard cement floor, but onto something that absorbed his impact. He wouldn't exactly call it soft, but…he wasn't dead. He wasn't sure what to think about that or how to feel. He was shocked and maybe a little relieved, though not nearly as much as he probably should have been. He wasn't sure if that should worry him or not.

Opening his eyes, he looked up into the dusky sky above him. Trying to sit up, he realized he had landed in a rather large palm frond. It was a bit of a struggle to extract himself from it, but eventually he managed. Standing up he brushed himself off, though he wasn't sure why he even bothered considering the sorry state of his signature outfit, especially his frayed and filthy trench coat. Looking around, he was perhaps a little surprised to find himself in the Training Center of Balamb Garden. Was this real, or merely another memory?

Not really sure what else to do, Seifer headed toward the exit that would take him back into the hallway that would lead him to Balamb's hub. If this was real and he was back in his own time, what welcome could he expect from his old stomping ground? Probably not a very friendly one to say the least…

His thoughts were interrupted as a sudden angry roar tore through the Training Center. He would recognize that sound anywhere; it was a T-Rexaur, and a fucking pissed off one at that. And it was close by. Not really feeling in the mood to fight at the moment, Seifer decided to mind his own business and kept a wary eye out as he continued to the exit. Too bad the damn thing was blocking his way out.

Coming to the edge of a small clearing, he was able to get a good look at the T-Rex. Although vicious and able to withstand a fair amount of damage, the beasts weren't really all that hard to avoid in the woods and could easily be avoided with a simple spell. It appeared that some unfortunate student, however, was either too inexperienced to know that or simply was not equipped to deal with a threat like this and had been caught in a clearing by the T-Rex. Seeing brown hair and a gunblade, Seifer had no doubt just who the student was.

Though surprised that Squall would let himself get caught in such a situation, he had no doubt that it was his rival who now stood trapped. That must mean that this was a memory, because the Squall that had fought Ultimecia and the rest of the things he had faced in the war would no doubt have little trouble dispatching a T-Rexaur single handedly and would have no shortage of spells to cast. Even realizing that he was in another memory, he couldn't simply stand idly by. It was apparent that this Squall was outmatched.

Cursing his luck, Seifer charged through the brush, wielding Hyperion. Charging the beast in a surprise attack, he swung with all his might at its unprotected stomach. Instead of delivering a fatal blow to the beast, though, his blade swung clear through it as if there was nothing there. The shock and the unexpected loss of balance nearly sent Seifer toppling to the ground. It was only his well-honed muscle memory formed through years of practice that kept him upright. What the hell?

Raising his blade and striking again, he found that it slipped straight though once more. Was he a ghost? That would mean he was dead…Had the fall killed him after all? Or was this all simply part of witnessing the memories? He could look, but couldn't touch…Stepping back a few paces, he resigned himself to watching as the younger Squall took on the T-Rex. If it was a memory, then he would just have to trust the fact that Squall got out of this battle intact and ready to face the trials that awaited him.

Looking closer at his rival, he realized that Squall did indeed look a little bit younger than he last remembered him and maybe a little scrawnier. There was also the notable absence of the scar Seifer himself had given the boy the morning of their field exam. Absently, Seifer reached up to trace a finger along the matching scar Squall had inflicted on him. They had marked each other as equals on that day, as two faces of the same coin. It was one of the memories he had that never seemed to fade, jumping to the forefront of his mind each time he looked in a mirror.

He watched as Squall cast Shiva, the ice queen raining a deadly attack of frozen shards down on the beast. Although wounded, the T-Rex was nowhere near finished and seemed to get angrier at the assault. Squall managed to slash at the monster, catching its nose as it came in to take a bite. Roaring in hurt and rage, the beast swiped its tail in retaliation. Squall barely managed to roll out of the way in time. He summoned Shiva again, another icy attack pelting the monster with deadly accuracy. This time, though, it took a moment for Squall to get his bearings back as Shiva faded away and the T-Rex, either by luck or design, was able to use the momentary disorientation to land a devastating blow with its tail. It sent Squall's prone figure flying through the air only to land with a sickening crunch against a tree trunk, where he slid, unconscious to the ground.

Beginning to wonder how the hell Squall had survived this and wondering why he was witnessing this memory in the first place, Seifer found the answer as it came charging out past him to meet the T-Rexaur head on. It was him, a little bit younger, perhaps by a year or so, but still him. He was watching himself fight, and it was impressive, if he did say so himself…which he often had.

It was odd to watch. With his eight-year-old self he had still felt somewhat detached, though he had known it was himself that he had been watching. Now, though, he looked so much like he currently did—grey trench coat, Hyperion in hand, slicked back blond hair—that it was somewhat disconcerting. He watched himself cast a blind on the monster before going to town on it, delivering devastating blow after devastating blow, his limit break going into effect. He made rather quick work of it, delivering a fatal blow through its heart as the beast roared and stumbled around in confusion. Life draining out of it, the monster stumbled a bit before falling heavily, causing the ground to shake, as it gasped its last breath.

Seifer followed as his younger self moved away from the T-Rexaur and toward the motionless Squall. The memory Seifer knelt down in front of the brunette, carefully checking him for wounds and casting a scan to check his vitals. He winced when he took a look at the back of Squall's head. He cast a cure to take care of some of the damage before slapping Squall awake. Coming to, the brunette seemed annoyed as he dazedly attempted to push Seifer's hand away. "Stobbett…" he mumbled, the words slurred.

"No, I'm not going to 'stop it,' not until you get up so I can take you to the hospital wing," Seifer announced to his counterpart forcefully. "Shit, Squall! What in Hyne's name were you thinking?! That thing could have killed you! I told you not to come in here without me!"

Squall merely coughed raggedly as he sent Seifer a weary glance.

"Fuck. Don't think you're getting off that easy!" Seifer declared in annoyance. "I would knock some sense into you if you didn't likely already have a concussion." Sheathing Hyperion, Seifer bent down to pick up Squall's revolver. Hauling Squall to his feet, he handed the gunblade to Squall. "Here, take this." As soon as Squall had hooked the weapon back into its place by his side, Seifer hastily bent down, swooping one arm behind Squall's knees while the other went under his shoulders as he lifted the lighter boy into his arms.

"What da hell you doin'?" Squall questioned in protest, his speech still slurred.

Seifer merely raised an eyebrow. "I'm taking you to the infirmary," he spoke as if it should be obvious.

Squall was fidgeting in his arms, apparently trying to get loose, though the effort was somewhat feeble. "I can walk," he managed to get out, though it was weak.

"No way. Think of this as part of your punishment," Seifer pronounced. "You'd better hope no one's in the halls this late. Though I'm sure your reaction would be priceless, I'm not about to let my reputation get ruined by something like this; I'll drop you first!" he declared, sounding only half serious.

"Whatever." Typical Squall.

"Well, that's more like it," the blond noted, chuckling. He seemed to be glad that Squall had stopped protesting as he proceeded to carry the smaller brunette through the training center toward the exit. They were lucky that the monsters seemed to be content to leave them alone.

Seifer had watched the exchange with mixed emotions. He wondered how things had gone from the memory before him to him and Squall trying to kill each other in battle less than two years later. Following himself through the training center, lost in thought, he hardly noticed when they reached the exit. He watched as the doors shut mechanically behind the two in front of him. If he wasn't really here would he even be able to follow, or would he be stuck in here until someone else came along?

Stepping up to the doors, he prayed that he would be able to leave. Whether by Hyne's grace or some warped rules of Time Compression, the motion sensors and face recognition software seemed to detect his presence, as the doors whooshed open. The scene they opened up to, though, was not what he had been expecting, though by now he supposed he really shouldn't be that surprised.

He was in the orphanage again, in the living room to be precise. Matron was sitting on a loveseat as a blond woman sat on the couch across from her with a young blond boy at her side. Analyzing the boy, he realized that it was himself at about age three. He didn't know who the woman was, but she looked enough like him that she could have been his mother. His throat constricted at the thought. He quickly pushed the thought away by concentrating on what the blond woman was saying.

"I don't know where else to take him, Edea. I would take him with me, but they will be looking for me and it wouldn't be safe. They killed his mother in front of him, poor thing, along with my husband, and I'm sure his father is dead as well. They will be coming after me next and they will no doubt be looking for Seifer…" the woman spoke anxiously, her slightly accented voice stressed and hurried. She paused as she reached into the folds of her cloak, searching for something. Seifer took the moment to process the fact that his parents were both dead and this woman, therefore, was not his mother. He wondered who exactly she was and why she had him.

Withdrawing an envelope, the blond handed it to Edea, who looked at it questioningly. "I will come back for him if I can, but if I don't please give this to him when he is old enough. I will leave it to your discretion as to when that is. You should read it as well; it will explain some things that I simply do not have the time to. There is a note from his father, General Aaric Reginar, that he wrote before…before he left. There is also a note in there that Cacilia, his mother, left me; she wished for you to read it as well. It should explain everything you need to know." With that the woman rose from the couch, sending a worried and wistful look in the young Seifer's direction. "I must go now. Hyne willing I will return before the year's end. Thank you again, Edea, I do not know how I can ever repay your kindness." With that the woman nodded to Edea, before turning to the three year old Seifer and gave him a kiss on the forehead in parting, whispering a farewell in his ear. Edea stood to walk her to the door.

Before the blond could leave, Edea questioned, "What should we call him? I assume the name Reginar is no longer safe to use."

The blond turned sharply, a small frown furrowing her brow. She seemed to have forgotten about that small detail. Glancing to the boy still sitting quietly on the couch where they had left him, she seemed to ponder the question for a moment before hesitantly answering. "Call him…Seifer Almasy. He was named after his great-grandfather; it is only fitting that he take on his last name as well. The choker he is wearing was his great-grandfather's; his name is engraved on the inside…Aaric passed it on to Seifer before he left to face Adel. I think it is the name he would have wanted him to have…" She continued to gaze sadly at the small boy for a moment before seeming to snap out of her daze. She sent a sad smile to Edea. "Please take good care of my nephew for me," she implored.

"He is in safe hands with me," Edea assured the woman gently. "And Delmira, do take care of yourself and may Hyne watch over you." Edea gazed seriously into the woman's, Delmira's, eyes as she clasped a hand warmly on her shoulder. Delmira merely nodded seriously, and with one last glance at her nephew she was gone.

Edea stood with the door wide open for a moment, seeing Delmira off. As Seifer walked up to the doorway to follow her gaze he noticed that the scene outside was not what he was expecting. Instead of the front yard of the orphanage, the door opened onto one of the classrooms in Balamb Garden. Taking this as his cue to leave, Seifer brushed past Matron, casting his gaze one last time at his three-year-old self before moving on to the next memory.

He didn't think he was quite ready to take in any more memories. He was just glad that for the moment the classroom was quite, giving him a chance to try to process the past few minutes. That woman—Delmira—was his aunt, and the fact that she had never returned for him…he could only assume it meant that she too was dead. And the notes from his father and mother… had Matron never said anything? Why had she kept this from him? Then again, perhaps she hadn't kept it…Could she have given them to him, could he have read them and have forgotten that too? He would have to look through his things and ask Matron about it if he ever got the chance…

He tried to force the thought of his parents out of his mind, figuring that he would deal with the confusing thoughts and emotions when, if he ever got out of this Hyne be damned time warp. He purposefully focused his attention on the scene before him.

His twelve-year-old self lounged in one of the chairs in the classroom looking bored. The instructor (Instructor Aki, if memory served) glared, but before he could chastise Seifer for his behavior, the bell signaling the end of class rang and the group of students sprang out of their seats and into the hallway.

Seifer followed his younger self, smirking slightly as he noticed that even at twelve he'd had a cocky stride and stood at least a head taller than almost all of the other students. What appeared to be a twelve-year-old Quistis trailed him out of the classroom. From a classroom across the hall an eleven-year-old Squall exited.

"So, Squally, you up for a spar after classes get out? If you get my lunch for me I might even be feeling generous enough to let you use some of my magic. That way when I beat you you'll know I didn't have any 'unfair' advantages," the younger Seifer spoke somewhat mockingly, smirking at the younger brunette. Squall merely sent him a glare in reply.

"He's not allowed to use magic until next year. It's against Garden policy, we just went over it two weeks ago," Quistis butted in. Seifer was amused to note that she had always been an annoying little know-it-all.

"Well, screw Garden policy. And mind your own business, Trepe," Seifer bit out to the blond girl, trying to force her out of the conversation that was supposed to be between him and Squall.

"It is my business. Under Garden Code section A Line 53 it states that if any Garden member hears of any illegal conduct taking place within Garden they are obligated to report it to the Disciplinary Committee or to a Garden Faculty Member. And besides, I'm sure Squall wants nothing to do with your rule-breaking," she announced confidently, head held high as she gave Seifer a defiant look.

"Pfft. Go ahead and report me, though you can't prove anything. And you'd get Squall in trouble too. What do you know anyway? Squall's free to make his own choices," Seifer declared, though it was apparent in the way he said it that Squall's 'own choices' were whatever Seifer decided they were.

"Fine. Squall, you don't want to be a part of any of Seifer's schemes now do you?" Quistis demanded of Squall himself, clearly expecting Squall to side with her and against Seifer.

"Whatever," was the brunette's noncommittal response. He seemed determined to stay neutral and be as far removed from their argument as possible.

"See, what'd I tell ya? Squall here'd much rather actually have some fun," Seifer declared happily, purposefully interpreting Squall's response in the way that suited him best.

"Whatever isn't agreement, Seifer. Just because he gets dragged along into all your little plots doesn't mean he wants to be!" Quistis argued back logically.

"You're just jealous that he doesn't hang on your every word like all your other little groupies," Seifer retorted, smirking.

"You're impossible!" Quistis shouted heatedly before storming off.

Now Quistis free, Seifer and Squall continued to the stairs, which was the quicker route as everyone else clamored to the elevators.

"Raijin and Fujin should already be saving a table for us. Just make sure your little roomie doesn't try and tag along again. I don't need to be seen hangin' around a little chickenwuss like him," Seifer reminded, chuckling.

Squall rolled his eyes, though a slight smirk played at his lips. He pulled the door to the stairs open as he reached it. Seifer grabbed it and held it open, allowing Squall to walk through first before following him.

Seifer watched the exchange between the two, the oddity of this whole experience hitting him once more. It was strange to witness his own 'memories,' especially when he didn't actually remember them. Damn GFs.

Following the other two through the door leading to the stairway, he opened the door, this time fully expecting and prepared for it to open to an entirely different scene with a different memory version of himself. Still, it was strange to open the door to the stairwell and find himself stepping out into the 'Secret Area.' He had always thought it was funny that everyone called it that. It wasn't really much of a secret…

He looked to be about sixteen now, his trademark outfit complete with trench coat on. Seifer felt like he was having an out of body experience watching himself, looking so similar to how he currently looked and how he was currently dressed. Shaking the feeling off, he tried to place what this memory was. The sixteen-year-old Seifer was drinking straight from a fifth of whiskey, the bottle almost empty now. His head was hung as he clung to the railing of the small balcony, his hair disheveled as if he had run his hands through it in frustration more than a few times. Hyne, he was a mess. Seifer wasn't really sure what the memory was supposed to be of, but he was obviously upset and trying to drink his problems away. It didn't appear to be working if the angry frown on his younger counterpart's face was anything to go by.

He was interrupted from his scrutiny as the door leading into the secret area was whipped open as someone launched himself onto the balcony before slamming the door shut behind him. Seifer could only see the back of his brunette head, but if the heavy panting was anything to go by, the boy had just managed to outrun a T-Rex and find refuge here. The other Seifer had turned unsteadily at the commotion and was glaring fiercely at the boy who had dared to disturb him.

"Gedda hell oudda here," he slurred loudly, waving the hand with the bottle in it wildly in a gesture that was presumably meant to shoo the boy toward the exit. Instead, it merely caused some of the little alcohol that remained in the bottle to slosh over his hand as the bottle was tipped. "Lookad ya made me do," Seifer yelled out, blaming the boy for his spilled drink.

When the boy turned and he was able to get a good look at his face, Seifer was only slightly surprised to see that it was Squall. A lot of his memories seemed to revolve around the boy, so it wasn't all that unexpected. Squall was giving Seifer a slightly wary and annoyed look, clearly put off at the fact that Seifer was so obviously and completely trashed. Seifer, despite his inebriated state, had managed to take notice of the fact that it was Squall who had stumbled upon him.

"Well, lookee who we ave 'ere…iz my favorite pardner in crime!" he exclaimed, giving a wide, drunken grin as he stumbled over to Squall and threw his arm haphazardly around the smaller boy's shoulders in an amicable gesture. "Whatcha doin' here?"

Squall didn't seem too happy to have Seifer's arm on him, but couldn't seem to shake the hold loose. "I was escaping a T-Rexaur," Squall informed the older boy monotonously, finally resorting to pushing the offending limb forcibly off of him.

"Aww…come on, Squallee, I'm jus bein' friendly; 'ere ave a drink…" he shoved the bottle toward Squall, who finally accepted it when it appeared that Seifer wouldn't take no for an answer. Squall lifted the bottle to his lips, pretending to drink from it, before handing it back to Seifer, who was too drunk to notice.

"What are you celebrating?" Squall questioned sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at the blond.

Seifer's face fell. "I'm celabrading thad those fuggin' spineless sons of fuckin' bitches instructors hate meh! They tell me I 'ave a probalem with fuckin' authoridy, but thad's jus 'cause I only recognize the authoridy of pee-o-ple who disserve it and know whad tha fuck they're talkin' aboud!" Seifer shouted out over the balcony, wanting his angry tirade to be heard by those that had incurred his wrath. "I was born ta be a leader nod a fuggin' yes-man!"

Squall merely listened as Seifer vented, not interrupting, just allowing Seifer to make his grievances heard. Done venting for the moment, Seifer went to take another swig from his bottle. Finishing the last drop, he looked at the bottle in annoyance before tossing it over the balcony.

"What happened at the field exam?" Squall finally spoke up quietly. It was a known fact that field exams, along with any actual missions, could not be discussed with anyone who was not already in the know. Seifer, however, had never really been one to follow rules (though he was good at enforcing them) and Squall often made exceptions when he was in Seifer's presence.

"Thad fuckin' bitch Xu, thaz what 'appened…" Seifer intoned acidly, leaning onto the railing once more. "Shit!" Here he paused to kick the wall viciously. It caused him to stumble, but luckily his steel-toed boots kept him from injuring himself. "She had it in fer me from tha beginnin'…" he lamented. He paused, turning to look at Squall, a fierce frown furrowing his brow. He was deadly serious now, the anger seemed to have dissipated, replaced by strong bitterness. "Wha da fuck are we doin' 'ere anyway, Squall? We worked our whole lives to getta this point, an' fer what…? SeeD er nothin' but murders fer hire! They don't care who thay're workin' fer as long as day get paid! They're nothin' but killin' machines…Thay don' stand fer anything…" He looked almost as if his whole world had shattered, as if he had just come to realize that the oasis he had been walking toward—looking for salvation—was nothing more than a mirage.

Squall seemed at a loss for what to say. "It's not a SeeD's place to judge their missions; they simply follow orders…" Squall finally replied; it sounded almost mechanical, memorized.

"Fuck, Squall! Don't choo see? All thay want's fugging robots! Maybe you can be one, bud I can't! I ain't no bloody hitman!" he declared vehemently. The anger was certainly back now, but more than that there was a sense of determination, of strong convictions.

Squall looked to be in deep thought. "SeeD are mercenaries, Seifer." It was a statement that was obvious, but it was said with such weight that it managed to convey something of Squall's thoughts on the subject. SeeD are killers and that's all there is to it.

Seifer sneered, seemingly unconvinced and annoyed. "Ya may act like-a cold-harded robod, Squall, but we both know thars more to you than thad…" he trailed off as he walked up to Squall, only stumbling a little. He stopped in front of the other boy, staring at him a moment before raising a hand and brushing the back of it to the brunette's cheek. Squall sucked in a breathe at the caress, but otherwise did nothing. "Why do you insis' on pushin' evryone away, Squall? When will you accept I'm nod goin' anyware?" Seifer had slowly inched closer to Squall as he spoke, the last words were spoken directly into the smaller boy's ear. Before the words even had a chance to sink in, Seifer—with a quickness that was somewhat surprising considering his intoxicated state—had moved his lips over Squall's own in a passionate, albeit drunkenly sloppy, kiss.

Squall, taken by surprise, seemed to instinctually respond before abruptly stilling against Seifer and coming to his senses, pushing the other boy away. "You're drunk, Seifer," was all he said, giving the blond a harsh glare as he maneuvered past him and all but ran back into the training center.

Seifer watched the other boy rush out forlornly. "Shit…" It was a self-deprecating whisper. "Shit. Shit. Shit…" Each word was punctuated with a fist pounding frustrated against the railing before Seifer slumped over it, head resting on his forearms.

Watching himself acting so pathetically from the sidelines, Seifer couldn't help but be a little confused and appalled by what had just played out before him. He couldn't imagine himself ever having done anything like that…Even without the GFs' influence, there was a good chance he wouldn't have remembered the encounter. He could only hope that the GFs had taken care of Squall's memory…It would be embarrassing to have the boy remember him acting so pathetically. Although, at this point he really shouldn't be worried about his pride or reputation…They were already ruined beyond repair…

Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, he was about to turn and follow Squall back out to the training center and what would undoubtedly be another memory, when he noticed that instead of looking out over the dark plains of Balamb, the balcony now overlooked a sort of desert with a house a short ways off. When the hell had that happened?

Sighing, he took the change in scenery as the cue to his next destination. Instead of the balcony being two stories up, it was now at ground level, making it easy for him to climb over the railing and into the arid environment beyond. Considering that the small house was pretty much the only thing of interest within sight, he resolutely left his sixteen-year-old self behind as he headed toward it. Idly wondering what this new destination had in store for him, he desperately tried to shove the image of him kissing Squall into the recesses of his mind, back where it belonged. He simply wasn't ready to deal with that.


End file.
